


Loveproof

by Tenukii



Category: Inside Llewyn Davis (2013), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Twins, Bad Matchmaking, Blind Date, Brotherly Love, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Folk Music, Inspired by Music, Librarians, Libraries, M/M, Musicians, Mutual Pining, Secret Crush, Theatre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenukii/pseuds/Tenukii
Summary: College students Poe Dameron and Al Cody are sensitive nice guys.  Their twin brothers, Llewyn Davis and Kylo Ren, are "loveproof" jerks.  When Al and Kylo's cousin Rey arranges a blind date for both sets of twins in order to set up Poe and Al, they make a perfect couple. . . except they've both already fallen for each other's twin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "Loveproof" by Aoede. The song in the first chapter is called "Mercy" from the Counting Crows. It's not exactly folk, but it really reminds me of Llewyn (and Joy and their dad).

Al Cody followed the same routine every Friday night.

His last class of the week ended just before noon, so he would walk home, eat lunch, and start in on the weekend’s homework.  Since he never had theater practice on Fridays, Al could get most of his work done before five, when he would stop to take a shower, shave, and trim the mustache and goatee he’d grown when he got the lead in the theater department’s production for the semester (Bud, in _Urban Cowboy_ ).  Al would put on a clean shirt and jeans, his cowboy boots, and his hat, then go to the kitchenette of the apartment he shared with his twin brother.  He usually had time to make two sandwiches, one for his own dinner and one to leave in the refrigerator for Kylo to eat when he got home from work.

Al would finish his sandwich then go into the bathroom to brush his teeth.  He wasn’t about to go out on Friday night with dirty teeth.  Just in case.

At 6:30, Al would leave the apartment in the car he and Kylo shared.  Kylo worked at the campus library a short walk from where they lived, so Al always got the car on Friday nights.  He drove to the revitalized downtown district of their college town, parked in a lot full of other students’ cars, and walked the two blocks from the lot to a little pub.  It was a pretentious, hipster sort of place, the kind of place that sold craft beers to socialist-leaning graduate students who wore thick-framed glasses and didn’t shower every day.  Al didn’t like it much, but he didn’t come there for the atmosphere, or for the beer.

This particular Friday night, Al walked in at a quarter of seven—his usual time—and sat down at a small two-person table in the back—his usual table.  He brought in his umbrella because the weather forecast had predicted rain.  His usual server came by, gave him her usual smile (Al was a good tipper, and maybe she liked his cowboy hat, because she certainly couldn’t have found him attractive), and asked if he wanted his usual order.  Al said yes please and smiled back, the usual polite smile he had perfected: not too wide, not showing any teeth, because Al’s true smile was a joyous, painfully dorky grin.  He tried to be careful with it.

The server came back with a root beer float.  Al did drink, sometimes, but not when he was driving.  He sipped at the straw and looked down at his phone, pretending to text so he wouldn’t feel so awkward being there alone.  He’d been coming to the pub on Friday nights for a few months now, and he still wasn’t used to that.  But finally his phone’s clock said it was seven, and Al silenced the phone and stuck it in the back pocket of his Wranglers.

Just like most Friday nights, the entertainment was a couple minutes late.  Every week, Al worried he might not show, and it might be another whole week before Al got to see him.  But every week, he shuffled up to the little stage area to the left of the bar at around 7:02 or 7:03 with his guitar case in one hand.

Tonight, he climbed up onto the stool there at 7:03.  His legs were really too short for the stool, and he hooked his toes behind one of the rungs in front.  He was wearing scuffed black combat boots with worn grey corduroy pants whose frayed cuffs hung down in back and clearly got stepped on frequently.  Al’s eyes moved up his legs, hovered over his lap where he now had his guitar out, tuning it without taking off his fingerless gloves even though it wasn’t really cold.  Al looked at the compact torso swathed in a stained grey hoodie—a different shade of grey from the pants—then up at the scruffy, unshaven face bent over the guitar.

Messy beard, not all that long but somehow rumpled-looking all the same.  Perfectly-formed lips with a half-smoked cigarette between them, the thin paper cylinder twitching slightly as if he was unconsciously tonguing the end in his mouth.  Sort of big nose, skin the color of the foam in Al’s float, eyes fringed by black lashes and hooded with heavy black brows.  Then, when he lifted his head to look out at the audience who mostly filled the small pub, Al could see his eyes again.  If his skin was the color of the foam, his eyes were the color of the root beer itself, a rich, warm brown.  They were limpid, smoldering, all the words Al could remember from the romantic novels he read in his literature class a couple semesters ago.  He never opened them wide, so that they were perpetually shaded with his lids and lashes.  His hair was a tangled mess of curling strands even darker than his eyes—not quite as dark as Al’s own hair, but still so dark it was nearly black.

His name was Llewyn Davis.  Al had never met him or even spoken to him before.  All he knew was that Llewyn was a student too, that he played mostly folk music—some old and some original—every Friday night at the pub, and that he made Al crazy in a way no one else, man or woman, ever had before.  He smoked, he was always a sloppy mess, and he almost never had to pay for the drinks he downed after his shows.  Each Friday, Al told himself that this was the week _he’d_ buy Llewyn a drink, but he always lost his nerve.  He knew that, should he ever meet Llewyn, those beautiful eyes would look at him with nothing but bemusement and disdain.  Al decided it was best that Llewyn never learned he existed.

This night, Al leaned back in his chair with his float and listened as Llewyn Davis began to sing.  His voice wasn’t especially beautiful, but he sang well, and Al loved to watch the expressions that crossed his face as he lost himself in the music.  Al sat in the shadows wondering what it would be like to be with him while Llewyn’s short fingers moved over his guitar’s strings, all of him concentrating as he sang:

_My sister sang a song so sweet and sad_   
_About a man whose love I never had._   
_There’s a train bound for Gilead,_   
_And mercy will follow me, I’m told._

It wasn’t a song Al had heard Llewyn sing before, but it suited him in some poignant way.  Al wondered what had happened to Llewyn to make him look so small and lost when he sang, and to give his voice such a worn-out tone of exhaustion even though he couldn’t be much older than Al himself.

_What happened to you?_ Al asked in his head.  _Why are you so sad?  Why couldn’t I have been the one to make you happy again?_   Llewyn licked his lips and dropped his eyes back down to his hands moving over his guitar.

_Under this skin, there lies a heart of stone._   
_It’s growing old so very far from home,_   
_But a heart of gold I may one day own,_   
_And mercy will follow me, I’m told._

_Mercy, will you follow me, until the final breath at last I take?  
Mercy, will you follow me, until the chains of this old world I finally break?_

Al’s eyes stayed fixed on Llewyn’s face for a second even after his phone started vibrating in his pocket.  As Llewyn played the last few chords of his first song, Al pulled the phone back out and glanced at it, then sighed and read the text from his brother more carefully: “It’s raining, so can you come get Rey and me after work? Thanks.”

The library closed early on Friday nights, and Al’s brother and their cousin would be ready to leave just a little after eight.  _With the weekend traffic,_ _I’ll have to leave now to make it in time,_ Al realized, exhaling with a hiss.  He didn’t want to, didn’t want to miss almost all of Llewyn’s show and have to wait another week to see him again. . . but family was more important than some silly crush.  Al texted back that he was on his way.

He slurped down the rest of the root beer out of his float and left some cash on the table—by now, he had the exact cost, with twenty percent tip, memorized.  Then he pushed back his chair, stood, and started slipping past the other tables toward the door.  Al thought he hadn’t disturbed anyone, because none of the other patrons so much as glanced at him.  However, he had to walk through brighter light near the exit, and his movement was bound to catch someone’s attention.

That someone, most unfortunately, was Llewyn.  He must have seen Al’s motion out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to look just as Al took a final glance over his shoulder.  Their eyes met from across the room, and Al could just imagine what Llewyn saw: someone walking out on his performance, getting up and leaving in the middle of Llewyn’s heart-rending singing.

For the first time, the beautiful, root-beer-colored eyes looked at Al Cody and really _saw_ him. . . and just as Al had predicted, they narrowed with disdain, even disgust.  Al’s boots froze to the floor, and he stared back helplessly as Llewyn first glared at him, then dismissed him, turning deliberately away to face his remaining audience as he began to sing again.

Al trudged out of the pub and paused to put up his umbrella; then he slogged through the increasingly heavy rain the two blocks to his car.  _Does Llewyn have a car?_ Al wondered.  _He doesn’t look like it.  I could have driven him home tonight, so he didn’t have to walk in the rain._   He thought about dropping off Kylo and Rey, who lived close to her cousins, then coming back to the pub to catch the end of Llewyn’s show.  Buying him a drink.  Giving him a ride home to wherever it was Llewyn lived.  Walking Llewyn to the door, seeing those low-lidded eyes looking up at him with gratitude, kissing that perfect mouth goodnight—

_Except he probably hates me now,_ Al told himself miserably, _for being rude and walking out on him.  If I ever stood a chance with him, I sure don’t now._   He unlocked his and Kylo’s car, got in and folded up his umbrella, then headed for the library.  As he drove, Al managed not to think about how Llewyn had glared at him and instead remembered how his voice had sounded, full of longing as he sang about mercy and death.

\--

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Al was still brooding over Llewyn by the time he got to the library, and he was so caught up in his thoughts, he almost ran into a student who was leaving as Al tried to enter.  Al stumbled back with a muttered, “Sorry,” and held the door open so the other, much shorter young man could get out.  Al’s cheeks felt hot as he reflected bitterly on how clumsy he always was.  He wouldn’t have looked the guy in the face at all if the other man hadn’t responded with such cheerfulness.

“No problem!” he practically chirped.  Al finally glanced up from where he had been studying his own boots and the wet tracks they’d made on the concrete there under the shelter of an awning.  The other man sounded so _pleasant_ after the near collision, Al felt certain he was being sarcastic.  Yet the face looking up at Al’s was smiling, and the eyes were warm and friendly.

They were also exactly like Llewyn Davis’s eyes, and Al nearly dropped the umbrella he was clutching in his free hand.  For a crazy minute, he thought he either was hallucinating or had crossed over into some alternate universe, because the other man’s entire _face_ was a lot like Llewyn’s—every bit as beautiful, with the same sculpted lips and largish nose.  He was clean shaven, and his skin was a few shades darker, like he’d spent more time in the sun, but otherwise. . . .

_They look just alike_ , Al thought as he gawked at the stranger, who was now giving Al a rather odd look himself.  Al shook himself mentally: _Of course he’s giving me an odd look, because I’m staring at him._

“S-sorry,” Al stammered again.  The other man had stopped in the doorway, but Al tried to edge past him anyway, until he felt a hand grab at his sleeve.

“Hey, wait a minute,” the stranger requested.  When Al looked back, he asked, “Uh, are you related to Kylo Ren, that works here?”

“Yeah.  Um, he’s my brother,” Al told him.  The shorter man’s face lit up.

“Oh, that explains it!” he exclaimed.  “You two look, like, exactly alike.”  Al nodded lamely.  Normally, he wasn’t exactly shy or anything, but the guy was so exceedingly handsome that Al would have felt tongue-tied even if he _didn’t_ look so much like Al’s crush.  Al wanted to ask a question similar to the other man’s: was he related to Llewyn Davis?  He _had_ to be—in fact, they pretty much had to be either brothers or doppelgangers, and Al didn’t believe in those—but the slight chance he was wrong kept Al from mentioning it.

“Uh, are you one of Kylo’s friends?” Al finally managed to get out instead, thinking that if they were friends, Kylo might know something about Llewyn.  But the stranger bit his lip and shook his head slightly.  His dark, wavy hair bobbed in curls around his face.

“Um, no, not really,” he mumbled.  “I mean, Kylo’s helped me with my schoolwork before, but I don’t—don’t really know him that well.  I’m friends with the girl at the desk though, Rey.”

“Yeah, she’s my—well, _our_ cousin,” Al explained as he made a mental note to ask Rey about Llewyn, if he could figure out how to do it discreetly.

The other guy brightened and said, “Yeah?  Awesome.”  Then he chuckled and added, “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself.  I’m Poe Dameron.”

Poe stuck his hand out and grinned up at Al with a beautiful, white smile that stood out brilliantly against his tan skin.  Al tamped down a sudden surge of nervousness and wrapped his long fingers around Poe’s hand to shake it.  Unbidden thoughts sprung to mind of how Llewyn’s hand might be the exact same size as Poe’s, and how it might feel the exact same way held in Al’s. . . but then Al thought that holding hands with Poe himself wouldn’t be so bad either.

“Well?” Poe prompted.  “You got a name, or are you just Kylo’s brother?”

Al flushed and extracted his hand from Poe’s as he mumbled, “Uh, I’m—I’m Al.”

“Al. . . Ren?”

“Uh, no.  Al Cody.”  At Poe’s confused look, Al tried to explain, “It’s not my real name.  And Kylo isn’t Kylo’s real name.  It’s. . . uh, it’s complicated.”  He gave Poe a nervous little smile and felt like a complete idiot until Poe gave him a broad, warm smile in return.

He reassured Al, “Oh, no problem.  My brother and I are the same way about our last names.  Our mom died when we were kids, and when Dad remarried, Llew was so pissed he said he’d never use Dad’s name again.”

_Lou?_ Al wondered.  _No—Llew, as in Llewyn, as in he **is** Llewyn’s brother!_   Al tried to think of how to ask Poe about Llewyn without coming off as creepy, but Poe kept on talking before Al could get any words out.

“Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you, Al!  Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, m-maybe so,” mumbled Al.  He looked down into Poe’s pretty, cheerful face and blurted out, “I-I’d like that.”

When Poe blinked with surprise, Al felt like an even completer idiot than before, but then Poe grinned and said, “So would I.  I come here to study several days a week, so you know where to find me!”

“R-right,” Al stammered.  He managed another smile in response to Poe’s grin as the shorter man waved goodbye and hurried out into the rain, holding a battered red spiral notebook up over his head in a futile attempt to keep dry as he ran for the shelter of the bus stop.  Al watched him go by the light of the streetlamps in the parking lot, then turned toward the circulation desk where his brother Kylo and cousin Rey worked a few hours a week.  Neither of them was majoring in library science—Kylo was actually a physics major, and Rey was in general engineering until she could decide on a specific discipline—but both liked the work and the environment, even if the pay wasn’t great.  Al might even have tried for a library job himself if theater practice didn’t take up so much of his time.  As things stood this semester, he’d resigned himself to living off the savings account he’d built up with summer jobs and what was left of the money he’d gotten for his high school graduation a year and a half ago.

By now, eight o’clock had passed, and Kylo and Rey were packing up when Al got to the desk.  As Kylo shut down the computer he’d been working on, Rey looked up from her backpack and grinned at Al.

“I see you’ve met Poe,” she declared.

Al felt like he must be blushing as he mumbled, “Yeah.  So uh, who is he?”  He glanced over at Kylo, but Al’s brother was busy shoving some notebooks into his own bag.

“He was Finn’s friend first, but now we both hang out with him,” Rey explained.  Kylo hated Rey’s best friend Finn, but Al rather liked him—Al and Finn had the same goofy sense of humor and the same cheerful (Kylo called it naïve) outlook on life.  Both Al and Rey tried to point out to Kylo that the qualities he despised in Finn were what he found charming in his own brother, but Kylo wouldn’t budge in his opinion.  Finally, Al just wrote it off as Kylo being overprotective of his “baby” cousin, even though Rey was only a year younger than the twins.

Taking advantage of the drama in the hopes that he could wring more information about Poe out of his brother, Al teased, “Heh, if he’s Finn’s friend, you must hate him, Ky.”  Kylo just growled something and slung his bag over his shoulder before stalking toward the library doors.  Rey rolled her eyes and settled her own bag on her back.

“Thanks for picking us up, Al,” she said as the two of them followed the surly Kylo to the exit.  “Sorry if we interrupted your plans.”

“Oh, nah.  I didn’t have any plans,” Al assured her.

“Really?”  Rey looked at him intently—and when Rey looked intent, she looked _intent_.  Al gulped and busied himself with popping open his umbrella as the three of them walked outside.  Rey had a compact umbrella on a wrist strap which she opened up too, but Kylo hadn’t brought one.  Al held his umbrella out far enough to shelter both of them, then sighed when Kylo gave a shake of his head and strode ahead of Al, out to the car.  He got soaked immediately, the rain plastering his long black hair to the sides of his head so that the large ears he tried so hard to hide stuck out anyway.

_And that’s why I keep telling him he should invest in a hat instead of long hair,_ Al thought, touching the brim of his own cowboy hat before squaring his umbrella over his head and walking to their car with Rey close behind him.  She didn’t say anything else until they were all settled inside, Al behind the wheel, Rey in the passenger seat beside him, and Kylo dripping in the back.  Al was hoping Rey had forgotten whatever she was being so intent about by then, but she piped up again as soon as Al started backing out of his parking spot.

“So you really weren’t on a date with anyone?” Rey asked.  “Kylo said you go out every Friday night.”

“Yeah, I do,” Al mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on the road through the rain-spattered windshield, “but not _with_ anyone, just to this pub that has live music on Fridays.  I’m thinking I might try out to play there if I ever get enough guts to perform solo.”  He had prepared that story in advance, just in case Kylo ever got too curious and asked where Al went each Friday night.  Kylo was too self-absorbed to get that curious, but now Al was glad he’d had the excuse ready anyway.

“Oh,” said Rey.  She seemed like she bought the story, and what’s more, she looked pretty smug about it when Al glanced over at her a second later.  Al thought Rey’s reaction was kind of weird, but he got distracted when his brother spoke up.

“You should do it,” muttered Kylo from the back seat.  “You’re good, Al.”

Al blinked, then smiled at Kylo through the rearview mirror as he replied, “Thanks, but I’m not ready.  The guy there tonight—um, he was really good.  I need to practice a lot more before I try out.”  Al did appreciate being praised by his twin, since compliments from Kylo were usually pretty few and far between, but he still wanted to know more about Poe Dameron—and Poe’s brother.  Al looked at Rey again and asked, “So what was your and Finn’s friend doing at the library on Friday night?  Hanging out with you, or was he doing work?”

Rey shrugged and said, “Poe was working, I guess, although as much as he kept trying to talk to Kylo and me, I don’t think he got a lot done.  But he’s a senior, and he’s trying to get into flight school after he graduates, so he does have to study a lot.  He’s practically lived at the library this semester.  Finn keeps telling Poe he needs to lighten up and have some fun before he burns out.”

“Poe did tell me he comes to the library to study several days a week,” Al mused as he pulled into the parking lot at Rey’s apartment complex.  When he stopped the car in front of her building, she studied him a minute with a little smirk.

“He told you that, hmm?” Rey repeated.  “Sounds like you two really hit it off.”

“We were just talking,” Al protested.  “He was confused because I look so much like Kylo, and because our names are different.  I mean, Poe’s real nice, and we talked about hanging out some time, but—”

“Rey, are you getting out, or are we going to sit here in the car all night?” Kylo interrupted in a growl.

Rey rolled her eyes and sighed, “Fine, I’ve had enough of you for one day anyway.  Thanks again for the ride, Al.”

Al returned the smile she gave him—a real smile this time, not a smirk—and said, “Sure.”  Rey opened her car door and pushed open her umbrella before getting out, then waved Al off as she shut the door; but he waited there anyway until she had gotten her apartment unlocked.  Rey paused in the open doorway and shooed Al away again, then closed her door behind her with a laugh.

Once he was sure Rey was safely inside, Al finally backed out of his parking spot and drove off toward the apartment he and Kylo shared.  He wanted to ask his brother more about Poe, and if Kylo knew anything about Llewyn, but Kylo hadn’t seemed to want to talk about Poe for some reason.

_Kylo ignored me at the library when I asked about him,_ Al remembered, _and he kept trying to change the subject in the car.  Poe said Kylo helped him with his work sometimes, but I guess Kylo really doesn’t like him._   Ultimately, Al decided it was best just to let it go: when Kylo got broody about something, he was likely to lose his temper if pressed too hard on it.

Neither twin spoke until they got home; then, as they were getting out of the car, Kylo muttered, “Thanks for picking us up.  I’m sorry I had to bother you with it.”  He trudged away through the rain to their building’s outside stairs before Al could reply.  Al sighed and followed with his umbrella, catching up to his brother upstairs as Kylo was unlocking the door to their apartment.

“It’s fine, Kylo,” Al said.  He took down his umbrella under the shelter of their awning, shook it a few times, and fastened it closed with its strap before following Kylo inside.  “I was just listening to music at the pub, like I told Rey.  Nothing I ain’t heard before.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, you sound ignorant,” grumbled Kylo.  He slouched through the living room toward his bedroom, complaining all the way.  “That’s one thing Mom’s right about, you used proper English until you started this whole. . . cowboy thing.”

“Yeah, proper English like Dad’s Yiddish, right, _boychik_?” Al called after him, grinning at the same time.

“Good _night_ , Arthur,” yelled Kylo before slamming his bedroom door.  Al just chuckled on his way to his own room.  He didn’t really mind it when his family used his real name—not as much Kylo minded it when they called _him_ Benjamin.

After he’d undressed, Al started to climb into bed, but he paused beside the small desk where he did his homework—or where he dropped his textbooks when he got home from class, at least, since he usually ended up doing most of his work on his bed.  Sticking out from under Al’s _Urban Cowboy_ script, the edge of a newspaper had caught his attention.  Al pulled it out; it was a local entertainment paper that came out every Thursday.  Al always picked it up to look for performance opportunities, even though as he told Kylo, he didn’t feel he was ready.  This week, though, he had found a little write up about the pub and the talent that played there. . . accompanied by a photo of Llewyn singing.

Al got into bed and sat up looking at the newspaper, which he’d left turned open to the photo of Llewyn.  It was a good picture, too, with Llewyn gazing soulfully out toward some unseen audience, mouth open mid-word but not in a position that looked awkward, tousled curls falling over his forehead, beard just unkempt enough to make him seem creative but not slobby.

_He’s perfect,_ Al thought, and the way the picture made him feel told him that it didn’t really matter how cute Llewyn’s twin brother was, or how nice Poe was, or how well Rey thought he and Al would get along.  It was too late, because Al was already in love with Llewyn.

Except he wasn’t _actually_ , he reminded himself, because you couldn’t fall in love with someone you didn’t even know, someone you’d never even met and only admired (and been glared at by) from a distance.  _Actually_ , it was just a crush, and Al would eventually get over it. . . but dating his crush’s identical twin brother wasn’t the way to do that.

_And neither is keeping a newspaper just because Llewyn’s picture’s in it, but here I am,_ thought Al.  He put the newspaper aside on his nightstand, then turned off the light and slid down into bed.  _And anyway, who says Poe wants to date me?  If he likes guys at all, he’d be more interested in Kylo—Kylo’s not dorky like I am._

Al sighed and rolled over on his stomach.  _I’m sure Poe just wanted to be friends.  And Rey just thought we should be friends too, even though she looked real sneaky about it.  Not like it would be bad being friends with Poe—I shouldn’t avoid him just because he reminds me of Llewyn.  That’s not fair._

He yawned and rolled over again, this time onto his side where he finally drifted off to sleep thinking, _I can’t live my life. . . avoiding my feelings. . . even though Kylo makes it look so easy. . . ._

\--

To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

Poe always waited up for Llewyn to get home on the nights Llewyn went out.  Poe tried to be discreet about it, but Llewyn knew what he was doing—it was pretty obvious when a guy who normally went to bed around ten every night always happened to be awake when Llewyn dragged himself in from the pub at one or two in the morning.  Llewyn supposed Poe meant well.  Poe _always_ meant well, because Poe was perfect.  Tonight, though, it rubbed Llewyn the wrong way.

Lately, everything was rubbing Llewyn the wrong way.

He slouched into the apartment the twins shared and slammed the door behind him, and there was Poe sprawled on the second-hand couch their sister Joy gave them when she and her husband bought a new one.  Poe looked half-asleep and was blinking hard at some video he was watching on his phone, but he perked up when Llewyn banged his way in.

“Hey Llew,” he said with a drowsy smile.

Llewyn almost literally growled at him, “What’re _you_ still doing up?”  He set his guitar case down against the wall and trudged over to the kitchenette adjoining their living room.

“Bad night?” Poe retorted.  Llewyn was about to say something snotty in response, but then he glanced over at his brother.  Poe was glaring at him, of course, but he didn’t look angry so much as. . . what?

_Exhausted_ , thought Llewyn.  _He looks so tired—and sad.  Not like Poe at all._

Aloud, he muttered, “Sorry for snapping at you, Poe.  Yeah, I had a bad night.”  Llewyn had intended to get a beer out of the refrigerator to complement all the ones he’d drunk at the pub after his gig ended, but he took out two cans of Coke instead.  When he brought them over to the couch and held one out to his brother, Poe stared at him.

“Here,” Llewyn said, thrusting the can at Poe until he took it.  Llewyn sat down next to him on the couch and popped his own can open.

“Uh, are you okay?  Did something happen?” Poe asked.  “You never want to hang out when you get home. . . .”

“I’m okay.  I just—well did something happen with _you_ today?  You look rough.”

“Oh. . . .”  Poe took a long drink of Coke then managed a little smile.  “I’m okay too.  Just kinda tired.”

“Kinda?”  Llewyn stared Poe down over his can of soda.  When Poe glanced away, Llewyn insisted, “I knew it, something’s up.  I mean, I know how you’re wearing yourself out working on your senior thesis, but you look even tireder than usual.”

“‘Tireder’ isn’t a word, Llewyn,” Poe informed him.  Llewyn narrowed his eyes and prepared for another stare-down, but Poe gave in and sighed, “All right, all right.  Yeah, I’m wiped out.  I guess I’ve been working too hard.  Today in the library, I just felt so overwhelmed—I have all these books I need to read, and my work’s piling up in my other classes, and it just. . . .”  Poe sighed again and looked down at his drink.  His shoulders slumped as he finished, “It just doesn’t seem worth it sometimes.”

Llewyn’s hand clenched around his soda can hard enough to dent it.  “ _What_ doesn’t seem worth it?”

Poe looked up at him and stammered, “Oh—I’m sorry, Llew.  I just meant doing the thesis and all, trying to graduate with honors.  Maybe it’s a waste of time.  It’s not like I have to do it to get into flight school, and at this point, I could just coast. . . as long as I pass my classes, my GPA won’t take a huge hit if I don’t make A’s.”

“You’re starting to sound like me, back when we were freshmen,” Llewyn muttered.  He dropped his empty Coke can on the floor and leaned back on the couch next to his brother, with his arms folded across his chest.  “You don’t really mean all that, Poe.  _I’m_ the underachiever in the family, remember?  And Dad would be pretty upset if you let yourself slip _now_.  You remember how pissed he was when he realized I wasn’t going to finish in four years.”

Poe argued, “It’s not like I’m not gonna graduate!  I’d still be through on time at the end of this semester, just not with honors.”

Ignoring that, Llewyn went on, “And I know you, Poe.  Dad’ll be upset with you, but not as upset as you’ll be at yourself.  You said when we started here that you wanted to graduate, uh, with that _cum_ thing.”

“Llew!  Don’t be gross.  It’s _summa cum laude_ ,” Poe corrected.  Although he looked embarrassed, Llewyn could tell Poe was trying not to laugh at the same time.  Llewyn congratulated himself on finding a way to make Poe relax a little.

“Well, whatever,” he replied.  “I know you don’t wanna give all that up, not really.  You’re just burned out and need a break from working so hard.  I should know, I’ve been burnt out for four years.”

Poe raised an eyebrow.  “Only four?  You weren’t exactly enthusiastic about high school either.”  But then his mood sank again as he admitted, “You’re probably right, but if I’m gonna do it, I can’t afford to take a break.  I just don’t know if I can stand spending another day at that library.”

Llewyn kept quiet for a couple minutes and thought about what to say next.  Most of his acquaintances probably thought Llewyn was incapable of considering anyone but himself; however, he knew his brother better than anyone else did, and Llewyn now grasped the _real_ issue behind Poe’s unhappiness.  The clue was the word “library.”

Finally, Llewyn spoke up, “So you had a bad day at the library.”

“Hunh?”  Poe had been staring off into space, but he turned back to Llewyn.  “No, not really, I just meant—being cooped up inside all day, with all these stacks of sources I’ve got to read or go back to, and—”

“And the librarian you’re crazy about distracting you the whole time,” interrupted Llewyn.

“That—that doesn’t have anything to do with it!” Poe protested, even though Llewyn could clearly see that he was blushing.

Llewyn muttered, “Poe, I keep telling you that guy isn’t worth it.  You’ve been going there for months now, trying to get him interested, and if he doesn’t realize what a catch you are by now, he doesn’t deserve—”

“Llewyn, stop it!  I go to the library to do my work, not to see Kylo,” Poe retorted.  “And you know I don’t like it when you talk bad about him—you’ve never even met him!”

“He better hope I _don’t_ ever meet him.  I’d like to slug him for the way he treats you.”

Poe’s face took on an odd mixture of anger and amusement.  “Llewyn. . . Kylo’s got about a foot on both of us, and he works out.  If you hit him, he’d lay you out.  And anyway, what d’you mean, the way he treats me?”

Llewyn felt like arguing that he could hold his own in a fight, but Poe wouldn’t buy it. . . mostly because Poe had been the one to patch Llewyn up after all the fights he’d gotten in, in the past.  Instead, he answered Poe’s question in a surly voice.

“You’re upset over him at least once a week, so he can’t be treating you _right_.”

“Llewyn, he doesn’t ‘treat’ me any way at all!  We’re not even really friends.”  Poe sighed.  “Not that I haven’t tried.  Sometimes he warms up to me, and we’ll sit there and talk, and he’ll laugh when I make a joke or something.”

Llewyn commented, “If you tell him the same kind of corny jokes you tell me, it’s no wonder he hasn’t asked you out,” and he was pleased when Poe gave in and chuckled.

Poe went on, “So I’ll think we really could be friends—but then the next day he’ll barely say a word to me.  Sometimes he’ll go the whole week without having anything to do with me, and if I need help with something, he’ll make Rey help me.”

“So what’d he do today that’s got you feeling so bad?”

“He didn’t _do_ anything.  He just. . . it was one of those days.  He was really distant.  And then tonight. . . no one was there besides me—you know, the only loser alone at the _library_ on Friday night.”  Poe smiled wanly at Llewyn, but Llewyn didn’t smile back, just looked at his brother and waited for the rest of the story.  Although he never said so, Llewyn hated to hear Poe put himself down, even as a joke.  Poe really _was_ perfect as far as Llewyn was concerned, and anyone who didn’t realize it was an idiot.  Including Poe himself, and especially including Kylo Ren.

Poe finally went on, “So anyway, Kylo and Rey decided to close up early, and you know how hard it’s rained all night, so Rey asked if I wanted to catch a ride with them instead of taking the bus.  She said Kylo’s brother was coming with their car, and he could take me home.  And I was gonna take her up on it, but then I looked at Kylo and he just—he looked horrified, Llewyn.”

While Poe hesitated in his story, he lifted his eyes to his brother, and Llewyn felt stunned to see that Poe was close to tears.  Before Llewyn could think of anything to say, Poe finished, “I knew he didn’t want me to come with them, so I told Rey no and got out of there.”

“Fuck ‘im,” Llewyn declared.  He was too furious at Kylo to hold back.  “You can do better than that, Poe.  There’s probably a dozen guys who’re dying to go out with you, you’re just too hung up on this one asshole to give them a chance.”  Llewyn knew he had no right to accuse Poe of what he was guilty of himself, but he also didn’t think he was exaggerating the number of Poe’s admirers, either.

Poe sniffed and rubbed his nose before he replied, “Maybe. . . maybe you’re right.  I just—I like him so _much_ , Llew.  Sometimes he looks so sad, and I think I could help him, if he just gave me a chance.  I think I could make him happy.”

“Maybe so,” Llewyn muttered, “but you don’t want to be responsible for that.  Because if you find out _can’t_ do it, it’ll break your heart.”

“Llew. . . .”  Poe put his hand on Llewyn’s arm and squeezed it.  “I know, I can’t base a relationship on that.  I know I need to let it go and get over him.”

Llewyn relented and patted Poe’s hand awkwardly.  “And I know it’s not that easy.  I’m sorry I’ve been giving you a hard time over him, I just don’t like seeing you unhappy.”

“I know.”  Poe smiled again, warmer this time, then added, “By the way, I did get to meet Kylo’s brother—he was coming in just as I left.  I think they’re twins, just like us.”

“You ‘think’?”

“Well, Al—that’s the brother’s name—doesn’t dress anything like Kylo, and his hair’s different and all.  It was hard to tell if they’re identical.  I mean, you and I look way different even though _we’re_ identical twins, just because of how we dress and all.  Uh, and your beard.”  Poe chuckled and rubbed his own, smooth-shaven face.

“Okay, okay,” Llewyn relented, even managing a little smile.

“Anyway, Al wasn’t like Kylo at all.  He seemed shy, but he was nice and friendly once we started talking.”

“Yeah?”  Llewyn nudged his brother with an elbow.  “So he’s nice, and you two talked, and I assume you think he’s hot if he looks like Kylo.”

Poe blushed for a second time that night.  “Llew, I wasn’t checking him out or anything!  And he’s not really hot—he _is_ cute, but I want to be friends with him, not go out with him.”

Llewyn shrugged and said, “Well, that’s cool too.  Friends is good.”  He still wasn’t convinced that Poe hadn’t been at least a _little_ attracted to his crush’s twin brother, but he decided not to push it.

“But what about you?” Poe asked abruptly.  “You said you had a bad night, what happened?”

“Oh.  Nothing much, it’s not a big deal,” Llewyn mumbled.

“Llew, don’t be like that!  You were really pissed when you came in, so _something_ happened.”

When he realized that Poe wouldn’t be put off, Llewyn admitted, “Kind of. . . someone walked out on me.  While I was singing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Llew,” said Poe.  He was sincere, Llewyn knew, but he could also tell that Poe didn’t grasp what a blow to the ego a walk-out was.  Poe studied his face, then offered, “Maybe something came up, and they had to leave?”

Llewyn shook his head.  “No, it wasn’t like that.  This guy—I didn’t see him get up or anything, only noticed him when he was about to go out the door.  But he had stopped there, and he was looking back waiting for me to see him, so I’d _know_ he was leaving.  He just. . . _stared_ at me.  Then the next time I looked, he was gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Poe said again, “but people have walked out before, haven’t they?  I mean it has to happen every now and then.  Anyway, he was just a jerk.  From what I hear, everyone at that place loves your music!”

Llewyn didn’t care what everyone else thought; all he could focus on was the fact that one person _didn’t_ love his music.  One person hated it enough to leave during the first song, and he had made sure Llewyn knew it.

He tried to explain some of that to Poe: “I know he was a jerk, but—it was the way he looked at me.  He had these dark, dark eyes, and he was really tall. . . .”

Poe frowned.  “You mean like, he was creepy?”

“No!  Not at all, more like. . . .”  Llewyn bit his lip and looked away from Poe before blurting out, “He was handsome, really handsome.  It was like—I thought he was hot, first hot guy I’ve ever seen there, and he _walked out_ on me.  Poe, it was a sign.  I’m never going to make it.”

“Hunh?  What do you mean, ‘make it’?”

“Like. . . .”  Llewyn fidgeted then turned back to Poe before he continued, “Like, I’m never going to be successful.  At anything.  Not at school, not at music.”

“Llewyn, you can’t believe all that just because one guy didn’t like your music, no matter how nice he looked,” protested Poe.

Llewyn shook his head.  “Poe, I’m a failure, accept it.  Everyone else already knows it, you’re the only one who doesn’t.”

“Maybe I’m the only one who has any faith in you, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong!”  Poe and Llewyn were equally stubborn, and it wasn’t the first time they’d had that particular argument.  But this time, Poe didn’t look frustrated with Llewyn, only sad for him.  Llewyn hated the idea that he had made his brother feel even worse, so he gave up the fight with a muttered, “Whatever.”

Poe hesitated, then added, “And uh, if you thought that guy was good-looking, maybe you should meet Kylo’s brother.  He’s tall with dark eyes—really pretty eyes, actually.  You two might hit it off.”

“Forget it, Poe,” Llewyn growled.  “I’m not interested.  You know I’m not.”

Poe chewed on his lip a second before he said quietly, “Llew, you haven’t been out with anyone since Mike died, and that was almost three years ago.  And I know you’re lonely, even if you won’t admit it.  It doesn’t have to be Al—heck, I don’t care who it is, guy or girl—but you can’t go through your entire life unhappy because you won’t give anyone a chance.  I know you believe no one can live up to what Mike was, and maybe that’s true, but that doesn’t mean there’s _nobody_ else out there for you.”

Llewyn looked away, scowling.  “My love life is none of your business, Poe.  I’ve been out with plenty of people.  Guys _and_ girls.”

“I didn’t mean ‘slept with’!” Poe retorted.  “I meant, having a _date_ with someone.  Or even just making new friends.  You’re always complaining that all your friends hate you, so—”

“That has nothing to do with anything!” Llewyn almost shouted.  “I don’t want any friends, and I don’t want a boyfriend!  I know you think I’m a slut—”

“That’s not what I said!” 

“—but that’s all I’m good for.  Fucking.  End of discussion.”

Poe looked at Llewyn unhappily.  Then he murmured, “Oh, Llew,” and leaned over to hug Llewyn tightly.

Llewyn couldn’t remember the last time he hugged his brother, or anyone else for that matter.  His first impulse was to pull away, but that would hurt Poe’s feelings, so Llewyn put his arms around Poe and hugged him back, instead.

“I love you, Llew,” Poe mumbled with his chin on Llewyn’s shoulder.  “You’ll always have me, okay?  I know it’s not the same as having a—a partner or something, but I’m always gonna be here.”

“I know,” sighed Llewyn.  As awkward as it was, Poe’s affection for him made him feel a little better.  “I love you too, Poe. . . uh and I’m sorry I keep taking things out on you.  I’ll work on that.”

“Yeah.  I appreciate it.”  Poe tightened his arms, then finally let Llewyn go and sat back.  “Look, go get some sleep, and I’ll do the same.  We’re both worn out.”  He paused while Llewyn nodded; then Poe added, “Uh, but take a shower first, hunh?  You don’t smell too great.”

“Go to hell, Poe,” Llewyn said with a smirk.  “But fine, I’ll shower, and I’ll even catch up on my laundry tomorrow.”  As much as Poe nagged Llewyn about his pile of unwashed clothes that never seemed to get any smaller, Llewyn knew his brother would appreciate the gesture.  For Llewyn, it was both an apology and a thank you.

“I’ll look forward to that,” chuckled Poe.  He got up and started for his bedroom but paused to add, “G’night, Llew.  Sweet dreams.”

“Yeah.  You too,” Llewyn said.  He sat slumped there on the couch for a minute before standing up.  Then he noticed both their soda cans on the floor and groaned to himself.  Poe would be annoyed if Llewyn just left them there, especially if they attracted ants. . . but Poe also insisted on recycling, so Llewyn couldn’t just toss them in the trash.  Normally, Llewyn would do that anyway and make Poe fish them out of the garbage if he wanted to recycle them, but Llewyn felt guilty about it now.  He bent over and picked up the cans, trudged to the sink to rinse them out, then trudged to the recycling bin to throw them away.

Then Llewyn trudged off to the shower and bed, a little less surly than when he’d gotten home but still trying to get the tall jerk with the amazing eyes out of his mind.

\--

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

Al had theater practice the next Monday.  He and the rest of the theater students worked from noon until four with only a couple short breaks, but Al welcomed the long hours that distracted him from his nagging thoughts of Llewyn.  Kylo was still acting weird too, so Al decided to hang around after practice instead of going home and putting up with a surly brother.

Al’s friend Hux stuck around too.  Hux acted in their city’s community theater productions as well as the university’s, which impressed Al.  In turn, Al’s admiration stroked Hux’s ego enough for him to make friends, even though Al got the feeling Hux’s crowd wouldn’t have given him a second look if they’d met back in high school.  But theater proved to be a great equalizer, and the two had learned to enjoy each other’s company.

Hux and Al sat on the theater’s scuffed and dusty stage, both dangling long legs over the edge, while Hux’s best friend Phasma unpacked a carefully-wrapped piece of costumery she’d brought.  Phasma couldn’t have acted to save her life, but she filled the positions of both costumer and prop master for the theater department.  She excelled at both.

Phasma finally got her creation unwrapped, and she held it up for the guys to see.  Far as Al could tell, it looked like a pair of deer antlers stuck on a headband, like the cat ears girls in the anime club liked to wear.  Phasma had decorated the antlers elaborately with a crown of faux oak leaves and acorns.

“Impressive,” Hux appraised the antlers.  Phasma’s stern face did not register any emotion at the praise, but Al had figured out that she was great at hiding her feelings.  She was probably pleased that Hux liked her work.  Probably.

“Uh yeah, they’re pretty. . . well, pretty,” Al added.  “What are they for, though?  If Hux is gonna wear something like that in _Urban Cowboy_ , shouldn’t it be bull horns instead of antlers?”

Hux’s pale, freckled skin flushed, and he retorted, “Having to wear a cowboy hat is bad enough!  And my character just _runs_ the mechanical bull, he doesn’t dress like it.”

“Which reminds me, I still haven’t built that bull prop yet,” Phasma put in, “and I like Al’s idea.  It will be easier for me to just make you some horns, and you can play Wes _and_ the bull.  And Al can ride you.”  She sounded dead serious, and Hux blushed all the way down his neck.

Al laughed and said, “Better not, I’d break his back!” about two seconds before he got the double entendre; then he flushed as well.  Sometimes he did suspect Hux was gay, but although tall, lanky redhead was striking, he wasn’t Al’s type.  (Not to mention, sometimes Al suspected that Hux _wasn’t_ gay, and that he and Phasma were more than friends.  Both of them were so hard to read, there was no telling.)

“The antlers are for the play I’m in,” Hux told Al, ignoring Phasma completely.  “We’re doing _The Merry Wives of Windsor_ , and the community theater’s broke.  We have to get our own costumes and props, so Phasma’s helping me.” She came over and began settling the antlers amidst Hux’s vivid red hair as he spoke.

“I know that’s Shakespeare, but who are you playing, a deer?” Al asked.  “I know a guy turns into a donkey in one of his, but—”

Hux retorted, “That is in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , and only his head gets transformed.  Anyway, I am not playing a deer.  I’m Falstaff, and this is just for a costume he wears.”  He huffed at Phasma, who refused to be hurried and did not step back until she was satisfied with his appearance.

“They fit you perfectly,” she said.  “Too bad Halloween is over, because Al’s right.  You’d make a good deer.”  Hux glared at her and got to his feet, picking up a script resting beside him.

“If you can stop turning me into various animals long enough, I want you to read for me,” he muttered in Phasma’s direction.  “I’d like to try to do part of the scene wearing these, to be sure they won’t get too heavy.”

“They won’t be too heavy!” Phasma argued.  “Even for you with that flower stem you call a neck.”  Hux’s glare deepened, but he didn’t reply until he’d flipped through the script and found the scene he wanted.

“Here.”  He leaned over to where Phasma stood before the stage and shoved the script into her hands.  “You’re Mistress Ford.  Start with ‘Sir John.’”

Phasma read her first line and scowled.  “Jesus.”

“Just read it!” Hux snapped; then he straightened up and assumed a rather haughty stance which seemed suitable for Shakespeare, as far as Al was concerned.  Somehow, Hux managed not to look silly in the antlers, and Al watched him perform his part with interest.

Phasma read, wrinkling her nose as she did so, “Sir John!  Art thou there, my deer?  My male deer?”  Al put a hand over his mouth to hide a grin at her expression.  Hux’s lines were even sillier, yet he spoke them in all seriousness.

“My doe with the black scut!”  ( _What’n hell’s a ‘scut’?_ Al wondered.)  “Let the sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of ‘Greensleeves’; hail kissing-comfits and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me here.”  (Al didn’t know what “kissing-comfits” or “snow eringoes” were either, but they didn’t sound as dirty as scuts.)

“Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart,” read Phasma flatly, save for a hint of sarcasm over the word “sweetheart.”

“Divide me like a brib’d buck, each a haunch: I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands,” crowed Hux.  “Am I a woodman, ha?  Speak I like Herne the Hunter?  Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution.  As I am a true spirit, welcome!”

Before they got any further, Al’s phone started ringing.  He jumped; Hux gave him a dirty look; and Phasma sighed with relief.

“Sorry, sorry,” Al apologized.  He hopped down from the stage and pulled his phone out of his back pocket.  Somewhat to his surprise, he saw Kylo’s name.

“It’s my brother, I’d better get it,” muttered Al.  He jogged over to the nearest exit and went outside as he answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Al.  It’s me,” Kylo said, as if caller ID weren’t a thing.

“Yeah, I figured,” drawled Al.  “What’s going on?”

Kylo sighed into the phone, “Rey just called me.  She. . . had an idea.”

“Okay?”  Al couldn’t figure out why Kylo sounded so depressed until he spoke again.

“She wants to set us up on a blind double date.”

“. . . Oh,” said Al.  “Uh, is that—do people do that?  Double blind dating?”

“In Rey’s world, they do.  I kept trying to tell her no, but she said to call you and ask what you thought.  I’m hoping you hate the idea.”

“I. . . .”  Al _didn’t_ hate the idea, actually, because maybe a date was just the thing to make him forget Llewyn Davis.  He stalled, “What gave her this idea, anyway?  You didn’t ask her to set you up with someone, did you?”

The force of Kylo’s denial startled Al: “ _Hell_ no!  I don’t want to date, and I wouldn’t trust Rey’s choice for me even if I did.”  He calmed slightly and went on, “She seems to think that both you and I are lonely and need significant others to fill our otherwise meaningless lives.”

Al protested, “My life’s not meaningless.”

“Oh, and mine is?”

“Aw c’mon Kylo, you know what I mean.  And—well, she’s right about one thing.  I _am_ lonely,” Al finally admitted.

“I got that impression,” his brother replied, almost gently.  “You go out every weekend alone, and sit at that pub. . . .  I thought you might be hoping to meet someone.”

“Not exactly,” mumbled Al.  “But I think maybe this plan of Rey’s might be good for both of us.  You work so hard, and well—you ain’t seemed happy lately either.”

“ _Haven’t_ , Al.  You talk like that, you’ll turn your date off.”

“Maybe my date’s country,” Al countered.  “Oh, uh—speaking of, did Rey say who—I mean, I know she didn’t say _specifically_ who since it’s blind, but who are dates are?  Like are they. . . um. . . .”

Kylo deadpanned, “Like are they guys or girls?”

Al felt himself flush, and he stammered, “I-I guess, that’s one thing.”

“She didn’t say.  It doesn’t matter to me, because I don’t want to do this either way.”

“Maybe you’ll enjoy yourself even if it doesn’t lead to anything,” Al suggested.  Kylo did not bite at the chance to change the subject.

“Maybe.  But what I was saying, if you really are looking for someone, maybe we should make sure.”  Al heard Kylo take a deep breath before he went on, “I know we never really talked about this much, but you like guys better, don’t you?  I know you dated Lizzy in high school, but you never seemed serious about her.  And then you had that boyfriend your freshman year—”

“Johnny wasn’t my boyfriend!” Al hissed into the phone once he made sure no one was around to overhear.  “It was just a. . . uh, a thing.  But—but yeah.  I’m hoping my date is a. . . a guy.  But don’t tell Rey that!  If she’s set us up with girls, it’s fine.”

“Al. . . .”  But Kylo didn’t press the matter any further.  “All right.  So you want me to tell Rey we’ll do it?  It would be this Saturday at seven.”

“You really will do it?”

“Yeah, for your sake.  Not for Rey’s,” Kylo said rather grimly, then tempered the response with his deep laugh.  “You’re right that it should be—well, I won’t say enjoyable, but something different, at least.”

“Yeah.  Something different.”  Al smiled to himself and added, “Thanks for doing this for me, Kylo.”

“You’re welcome, Al.”

After they hung up, Al went back inside where Hux and Phasma were still practicing.  Al sat in one of the audience’s seats and watched, but he didn’t pay too much attention.  Mostly, he thought about the upcoming date and with whom Rey might set him up.

\--

To be continued


End file.
